I caught Tom's eye and grinned. "All Tigger."
* * *
As predicted, we didn't get back to Mallori's house until late. After midnight, before dawn. Somewhere in the middle. The specifics of it were hazed over and gilded around the edges as only vodka could. Vodka and fiercely protective friends.
Since Tom and Wes sent us home with a holiday-printed Pyrex dish of leftovers—which we gorged in the back of the Uber to some extremely righteous Christian rock—we didn't raid Mallori's kitchen or call up for pizza.
Instead, we stumbled into the house, laughing and groping and loudly shushing each other as we shrugged out of our coats, kicked off our shoes. The now-empty Pyrex found its way to the sink with a clatter that probably woke the entire street. Max gathered me up in an embrace that was more tackle than hug and flattened a hand over my mouth.
"You're in my bed tonight," he said, wedging his thigh between my legs. "I want you there every fuckin' night, Jory. You know that?"
It wasn't a question in search of a response but I nodded anyway. I did know. He told me this almost once a week. On occasion, he shared this along with visual proof. His cock in gym shorts or boxer briefs. Under a thin sheet or in his fist. Dripping wet after a shower. I knew.
Neither of us was in a situation where we could manage regular sleepovers. My roommate was nuts about keeping everything just so and he hated unscheduled visitors. Max lived here with a family of four and often had unscheduled visitors in the form of his niece or nephew bounding down the basement stairs to tell him some amazing new thing.
None of these conditions were ripe for the carnality of a hot new relationship.
We spent a lot of time kissing in cars. We took long walks, went to the movies, ate at cozy restaurants where it was necessary to sit extremely close together rather than a product of our lust. And we capped those outings with at least an hour of car kissing. On the nights we retreated to Max's place, we'd settle a blanket over our laps and ignore the television while maintaining some deniability if the kids—or Mallori—came down for a visit.
And still, it wasn't enough.
"Downstairs," Max growled into my ear. "I want you downstairs now."
He led the way, my hand enveloped in his as we made our way into his cellar sanctuary. I had about five seconds to catch my breath before he had me pinned to a wall.
Max scraped his scruffy beard over the crook of my neck, his lips exploring my skin as his hand moved down until it squeezed my cock. There was no doubt he was in control here. His grip was firm and certain, like he knew what I needed better than I did.
"This is mine," he said, a hot breath puffing out over my neck as he stroked me.
"Oh my god, yes." It wasn't even a question—and he knew it.
"I want you. I want you more than anything. It hurts, babe. It hurts so bad," he said, his words tumbling out in a gasp.
"Then I'll make it better."
Without further explanation, I backed him across the room until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. I dropped to my knees, edged my fingers under his belt, and pressed my mouth to his fly. I dragged my lips over the denim-covered ridge of him, thick and hard and hot through the fabric. I traced his length down and scraped my teeth over his flared head. His legs shook and he shoved his fingers through my hair as I reversed course and followed him to the root.
"Do that one more time and I'm gonna come in my pants," Max warned. "One more time, Jory. Just you watch."
"Would you like that?" I loosened his belt and unbuttoned his jeans while I asked. I was confident I knew the answer but it wasn't wrong to overcommunicate in these situations. "I want to give you what you want."
Max flailed his arms out. "And I want to give you what you want."
"Right. Of course. We're a pair of selfless lovers. That lines up with our track record." I chuckled to myself as I pushed his jeans down. "Let's do it this way. You get this round. I get the next one. Eventually, we'll figure out how to share a round. All good?" I didn't wait for him to agree. "Great. If you had to choose between a dry hump with you coming in your pants or a blow job with you coming in my mouth—"
"That one," he interrupted, slapping an invisible buzzer like he was on a game show. "Second option. Yes, please."
I yanked his boxer briefs down, and his heavy cock swung free. I studied him for a moment, taking in the veins along his shaft, his wide, ruddy head, and his earthy scent. "Good choice."
"If you stare at me like that another minute, I'm gonna come all over your face, babe."
I took pity on his poor, needy cock, curling my fingers around his shaft and brushing my lips over the crown. "Are you trying to tell me something about your endurance, Coach?"
Max's hands shifted from my head to my shoulders. "More of that," he ordered. "More."
I could've teased him. Could've drawn this out. Could've pushed him to the point of begging. But I didn't want any of that tonight. Begging and teasing had their place but I wanted to love him tonight. Even if I wasn't quite ready to say those words, I wanted him to feel it.
"Again, again, again," he chanted. "Please."
"Anything you want, it's
